Stranger from Another Universe
by sage97
Summary: The good thing about ending up in Ferelden is that I've just proved the multiverse theory. On the other hand, I now have a lot of people who want to see me dead. This was not how I pictured my life, but then, when have things ever gone according to plan?
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Dragon Age nor do I work for Bioware. I wish I did, but I don't.

* * *

"Ok. How am I going to do this?"

Last day of school, my things are all packed up and ready to go, and I'm standing in the middle of my room with no idea how I'm going to take my bags to the car.

"No cart, all checked out. Need to make as few trips as possible..."

I start snapping my fingers as I finally figure out the order.

"Ok. Backpack, small duffel bag, sleeping bag. Come back for everything else, then one more time to make sure nothing is left behind."

As I start carrying the bags, I repeatedly give thanks ROTC's open enrollment Physical Conditioning course. I may not have gotten into the program, but it certainly made a difference...

 _If only I could see that difference._

As I kick the door shut behind me, a thought occurs: the way I'm carrying my bags, there is no way I'm going to be able to land properly if I fall. My mind quickly presents a solution: don't fall.

Simple.

But as I reach the top of the stairs, the ground starts shaking. Eyes wide, I crouch as I try to set down my bags.

"Ah, hell. Earthquake?"

Before I can set anything down, the ground jolts, sending me flying down the stairs. As the concrete races up to meet me, I instinctively tuck in my head and bring my arms up to protect it, dropping my bags in the process. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable pain that was sure to come from the fall.

A moment later, a flash of green I could see through my eyelids causes me to open my eyes in shock, before I land, rolling awkwardly into the dirt.

 _Wait, dirt?"_

Before I can process anything further, I feel something slam into the back of my skull and everything goes black.

* * *

Waking up can either be pleasant, or it can be rough. Waking up after sleeping in on a weekend with no homework or projects, pleasant. Waking up with a hangover because you were a moron and had too many shots with too little water, rough. Being woken up by a swift kick in the ribs by what feels like a steel toed shoe definitely fits in the latter category.

"God-fucking-damnit! What the hell is wrong with y-"

That's when I opened my eyes and took note of the longsword pointed right at my face.

"Meep?"

My eyes follow the sword to the gauntlet holding it, from there to the well armored chest of the man holding sword, and finally up to the bucket-like helm covering the face.

 _Ok, Brian. Stay calm and don't say anything stupid._

"You know, I know that swords aren't exactly covered by the NRA, but I think their rules about not pointing guns at people who you don't intend to kill applies to other weapons as well."

 _Or just say the first thing that comes to mind from sheer terror. That works too._

I can barely see the man's eyes, but I think I saw an eyebrow raise. Or was he blinking? Hell if I know.

"And just what makes you think I'm _not_ going to kill you, apostate?"

I blink. "Apo-what now?"

Another voice, deeper and from behind. "Hold, Ser Bernhardt, we do not yet know if he truly is a mage."

"Wait, mage? Magic? Who the hell are you people and just _what_ are you high on?"

A third voice, this time from my right. "High?"

"You know, on drugs? I mean, you're in full plate armor, waving a sword in my face, and belting off weird fantasy shit. I ain't got nothing against LARPing, but this is bullshit."

"Enough," said Ser Bernhardt. "We saw him emerge from that tear in the Fade that the apostate escaped through. For all we know, he could very well be a demon."

Oh, I do _not_ like where this is going.

"Well," came the deep voice from behind. "It is a simple matter to determine if he is either a mage or a demon."

I don't even have time to panic before an armored glove grabs my shoulder.

"Relax. If you are neither a mage nor a demon, this shall not harm you."

Somehow, this does not reassure me. However, my misgivings have no effect on Voice #2 whose hand proceeds to glow blue on my shoulder before proclaiming, "Not a mage!"

His proclamation causes Bernhardt to relax and lower his sword away from my face, much to my relief, though he doesn't sheathe it.

I, however, have other concerns.

"Ok, first, how did you do that? I think you just broke a couple laws of nature, there. And two, that doesn't have any unpleasant side effects, does it? I'd hate to find out that you all aren't going to stab me, which I'm happy about, only to get, like, cancer or something later down the line. 'Cause that would suck."

"Maker's breath. Do you ever shut up?" Guy on my right.

"Not after a life threatening situation. I tend to get more talkative when I'm in danger." Or injured, or annoyed.

"Wonderful. You may put your sword away, Ser Bernhardt. I do not think he is a threat, regardless of how annoying he is."

"Oi."

I think I see Bernhardt roll his eyes before sheathing his sword. With the obvious threat to my health a little less intent on ending my life, I finally relax enough to stand up and take in my surroundings. Mostly dirt with a few sparse patches of grass and a couple trees. Not exactly the stuff of poems, but definitely far from civilization. Which begs the question:

"Where am I?"

I turn to face Voice #2, who happens to look just like Bernhardt with that helmet, who is kind enough to reply. "We are a few miles south of Lothering."

"Lothering?"

"Yes. Are you familiar with the town?"

"No, wait- Lothering? As in Ferelden?"

I think I saw his eyes light up in surprise.

"Indeed. Have you been there before?"

I ignore his question as I begin to hyperventilate. Ferelden. Templars. Mages. The Fade.

 _And south of Lothering, this place isn't exactly Blighted..._

"What's the date?"

"The date?" I assume that the Templars are giving me odd looks.

"Yes, what is today?"

Voice #3 from my right. "It is the 13th of Justinian. Thirtieth year of the Dragon Age, which is the ninth since the founding of the Chantry."

Shit.

My voice an octave higher, I ask, "Mind if I go over by that tree over there? I need to do something real fast."

Definitely giving me weird looks. "I suppose... Don't try to run, though."

I cough to clear my throat. "Thank you."

I straighten my clothes, and walk behind the tree calmly.

Then I began to scream.

This was _not_ how I pictured starting my summer break.

* * *

Not exactly the first thing I posted to the site, but it is the first thing I've written. And it's a self insert. That does not bode well. I will try to avoid the usual traps, though. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, so please review.


	2. Chapter 2

If you expect me to have a disclaimer detailing how I don't own the series/franchise at the beginning of every chapter, you'll be sorely disappointed. It's on the first chapter. Not to mention, if I did own Dragon Age, I doubt I'd be writing Dragon Age fanfiction... and I just realized that this is kinda like a disclaimer... And it's longer than the one last chapter... _Nuts_.

* * *

I'll be the first to admit that my method of gaining some form of catharsis is neither subtle nor dignified. But considering the sheer absurdity of my situation, I'm willing to cut myself some slack.

My new companions are not so accommodating.

"Maker's breath! What is wrong with you?"

By this point, my scream has died down enough for me to recognize the speaker as Voice #3. I really need to learn their names.

I wait to answer him until I've taken a few deep breaths to settle myself down.

"Honestly, I think it's less a question of what's wrong with _me_ , as it is what's wrong with the _fucking universe_."

And again with the weird looks. Don't ask me how I can tell under those helmets, I just know.

And now I'm talking to myself in my own head again. Wunderbar.

"야, 이것은 더 미치게 될 수 있는 거냐? 무슨말이야? 당영하개 더미치겟지!"*

"I'm sorry?" That was Voice #2. I think I like him best. Seems to be nice fellow. As opposed to sword-happy Bernhardt and grumpy #3. Ok, getting off track.

I sigh. "Nothing. Just... Hey, is my stuff still back there?"

I think he turned around. Ok, I know he turned around. That armor clanks like no tomorrow. Wonder how it doesn't drive him nuts.

"Yes, it's all there. Except your knapsack. That's still on your back."

"My what?" I feel over my shoulder and, sure enough, my backpack is still there. Ordinarily, that would be hard to miss, but, then again, these aren't ordinary circumstances.

I finally turn around to face the three Templars. And now I don't know which one is which. They need to figure out a way for me to tell them apart. And I need to get back on track.

"Great. You guys mind if I take inventory? See what I have, what I may need to replace?"

They look at each other. "I don't see why not..." Alright, so Voice #2 is the guy in the center. Good to know.

"Just don't try anything funny." And Bernhardt is on my right. Which means Voice #3 is on my left. Which reminds me.

"By the way, can I get your names? I've basically been identifying you by your voices in my head, and thinking of you as Voice #2 and so on... Well, you know."

I have got to do something about how I ramble on.

"Oh, of course. I am Ser Bryant. Knight-Lieutenant of the Templar Order." The Templar in the middle took off his helmet. "To my right is Ser Levan and to my left is Ser Bernhardt."

The first thought in my head was that Ser Bryant was a lot darker than I recalled. My next thought was to debate whether or not that could be considered racist before giving up as going down that road would lead to a few hours of mental gymnastics.

My third thought was a reminder that it was only polite to introduce myself in return.

"My name is Brian ***. I'm a second-year college student... Or would that be third-year? No, I just finished... I'm a student. Let's just roll with that. Nice to meet you."

I hold out my hand automatically, expecting a handshake. Before I realize that Ferelden society might _not_ use the handshake as a form of greeting, Ser Bryant grips my forearm and-

 _Ow, that's one hell of a grip._

I keep any sign of discomfort off my face until we let go.

 _What the hell do they feed you people?_

"So," I begin. "Knight-Lieutenant? I assume that means you're the ranking officer here?"

He nods. "Indeed. I command the Templar unit stationed in Lothering."

I nod in return walking over to my bag and opening it up. It's only after I shuffle through my clothes that something comes to mind.

"Wait, if you're in charge of the Templars in your town, why are you out here?"

"We were chasing an apostate, a mage who is not under the Chantry's guidance."

I take the time to pull out the plastic bag holding my toiletries to respond. "Ok, that answers a question, but not the one I meant to ask. Why are _you_ , the head of Lothering's Templars, here? Seems like the sort of thing to send your subordinates to do."

I untie the bag and do a cursory check over everything to confirm that they were intact before rifling through the rest of my duffel bag.

"How much do you know about apostate mages and the Templar Order?" That question made me pause. I knew quite a bit from the 200+ hours I spent playing Dragon Age: Origins, and the hours after _that_ perusing through the Dragon Age Wiki. But they don't know that I know, and I'm very obviously a foreigner so I can't pass myself off as a local. _And_ I've already let slip that I knew about Ferelden and where Lothering was, so I can't exactly feign ignorance.

Scheiße.

Well, the best cover stories are rooted in truth. Time to pull off an Obi-Wan.

"I've read some lore." I set aside the duffel bag and look around for my sleeping bag which is... right next to me. I really need to be more observant.

"And what does that lore say?"

"Basics. Military arm of Chantry, mage hunters, basic hierarchy, etc." I feel like I'm forgetting something. Pocket? I feel the tissues, keys, and cell phone I keep in my right pocket. Glasses? I quickly take them off and check them for damage and, miraculously, find none. With a little sigh of relief, I wipe them off on my shirt and put them back on as Bryant - _Is that his first name or his last?_ \- explains his presence.

"Apostates are always considered dangerous, but it's a matter of degree. We always assume the worst, that the apostate is a maleficar, and more experienced Templars are required to subdue them."

"And you're the most experienced of the bunch." Makes sense. But the fact that he seemed to whitewash what they do did not escape me. Nor did the feeling that I was overlooking something. What was it?

"Indeed. And..." He pauses. "Are you alright?" I look up to realize that the Templars have arranged themselves in front of me without my noticing, Bryant looking at me with mild concern while the other two are entertaining themselves by wondering at the crap I've pulled out.

"It's nothing. I have this feeling that I'm forgetting to check on something important, but I don't know what I've missed. I've checked everything in my bag; the sleeping bag is over there; I've got everything in my pocket; my glasses are fine; and my laptop-"

Oh. That's what I forgot to check on.

" _Shit._ "

That got their attention. "What's wrong?" Bryant is on alert, ready to draw his sword, while Levan and Bernhardt straighten up and begin looking around for threats.

"Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit..." Meanwhile, I ignore them while chanting my little mantra, opening up my backpack and pulling out my laptop before opening it and...

 _Whew. It works._

I sigh in relief as the YouTube video I had paused displays on my screen while the Templars relax.

"That's it? _That_ is what you were so concerned about?"

I glare at Levan over the top of my glasses. " _This_ is worth about $1,000. To put that into perspective, that's enough to buy food for 10-20 _weeks_."

That certainly gave them pause. I huff before considering the laptop. I can't keep it on, that'll drain the battery. But I don't want to lose this. A quick glance down at the connection status tells me what I already know: there's no internet. No way for me to contact anyone back home. No way to tell anyone where I am or that I'm even alive.

-That's fucking depressing. Time to switch gears before I break down crying. That would be bad.

* * *

*Ah, can things get any crazier? What am I saying? Of course it'll get crazier! - No, my Korean isn't perfect, but it's enough to get by.

So, first update of the New Year. I was planning on uploading this on midnight, but it wasn't finished by then so... yeah. Which segways nicely to my next point. This is the end of winter break for me, and I'm going to be a _lot_ busier next quarter since I just changed majors. So updates will be sporadic at best.

Also, I've made some minor changes to the previous chapter. Nothing major, just little things like typos and such. If you find any, let me know and I'll fix 'em with the next update.

As for the chapter itself, I'm not all that happy with it, but _does_ capture my thought process quite nicely. Not everything, of course, but we have the rest of the fic for y'all to see that. So... yeah.

As for the Korean and the German, well I _am_ a Korean-American and I speak the language at home. As for the German, I tried to teach myself some German in an effort to impress women. Ok, one girl in particular. Haven't made much progress, but a few phrases have stuck with me which I use semi-regularly. Don't judge.

Please review. It helps my ego and helps me improve. My writing, of course, not my ego. That doesn't need improvement.


	3. Chapter 3

Right. Now, then. _Focus_. Laptop's functioning. Thank god. I haven't been stabbed, nor am I missing anything important. Well, body parts and possessions anyways. I think that my friends and family are- Nope, not going there.

Wait, I'm holding _technology_ , technology that produces light and displays information with no discernible source, and the Templars haven't reacted... What the hell...

Wait... Oh, they can't see the screen... Although that's about to change since they're looking at it rather intently... and coming closer. Time to close it.

By the time I closed my laptop and placed it back into my backpack, the Templars were standing over me.

"Anything you want to know?" I ask as I zip up my backpack.

Ser Bryant nods. "Yes. I was wondering what that folding metal tablet was. Especially if it's valuable enough to spend that much money on. Also, how was it emitting light?"

Oh, ok that shouldn't be... Wait, what?

"Wait, what?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, the sun is behind us. And that device was casting a shadow..."

"On my lap, and it was not nearly as dark as it should have been." Wonderful.

"Also, it was blue."

"Of course it was... You're... taking this rather well."

Ser Bryant just gives me a look. "Young man, you are a non-magical human wearing clothes that clearly mark you as a foreigner who appeared from a tear in the Fade. To be quite honest, it would be more strange for you to be exactly like us. Also, we can detect magic, and there is nothing even remotely magical here. Unusual, certainly. But not magical."

I blink.

"That's... surprisingly tolerant of you..."

He looks offended. I raise my hands in a placating gesture as he opens his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend, but... well, from what I know, the Templars are known a bit more for their zeal for the Chantry than their..."

Again with the look. "Reason?"

A whining sound comes from my throat. "I wouldn't put it like that, but... kinda... ish?"

"Kinda-ish? What does that even mean?"

I blink for a moment before it hits me. "Right, common sayings don't exactly translate across cultures, much less ones that have not had contact in any form. Which just made me realize something. How the hell do we understand each other?"

I start pacing as Ser Bryant backs away a little. "I literally just crossed into what's effectively an alternate universe. Even if I ended up in what amounts to this world's analogue for England, there is no reason why I should be able to understand the language. Hell, the chances of me landing somewhere where the people speak perfect English, when there are literally hundreds of languages on Earth alone, are so astronomically small, it's ludicrous that things have worked out for me as well as they have. Granted, there are an infinite number of universes where people speak the same sort of English that I know, but compared to the infinite possibilities in the multiverse theory..."

Beat.

Now I have a headache. _Wunderbar._

"Fuck it. I need a drink or a nap. Or both. In that order."

One of the helmeted Templars cough. I glance at him over the top of my glasses.

"Wha- Is that one of my boxers?"

The Templar is indeed holding up one of my boxers against the afternoon sun. "Boxers? Is that was this strange garment is called? Where do you wear it?"

"It's _underwear,_ " I spit through my teeth, a small part of my enjoying the sight of him flinching as he realizes the faux pas he just committed. "Kindly put. It. _Down_." Beat. "Not on the ground, back in the bag."

He seems eager to be rid of it. I stalk over to my bags, growling at the bastard as I pass by him, and proceed to pack up my stuff. Well, everything that the Templars took out. Which is practically everything except my clothes. Most of my clothes.

Fortunately, it doesn't take long to pack everything up. And then Bryant pips up.

"If you're done packing, let us go."

I blink. "Ok, great, go where?"

"Back to the Lothering Chantry."

 _That sounds vaguely ominous. Why does that sound vaguely ominous._

"Um... ok. So, by 'us', does that include me?"

"Yes."

 _I don't think I'm going to like where this is going._

"Um... Why?"

"Because we need you to stay in a place where we can keep an eye on you until we can muster a Templar escort to take you to Kinloch Hold."

It takes me a few seconds for me to realize exactly what he's talking about.

 _Oh hell no. I am_ not _going to the Circle Tower._

"But you said I'm not a mage. Why are you sending me to the Circle?"

Given how the Templars' hands settled on their swords, that was probably the wrong thing to say.

"There is nothing magical about you that we can detect. That, however, does not mean there is nothing magical about you."

 _Well that's a bit of fucking troll logic._

"So, while you can't tell if I'm overtly magical, I'm being sent to the Tower _in case I'm magical_?"

"Effectively, yes."

 _Well, find me in the Alps, that's a bunch of bullshit._

"Oh, yeah. Brilliant plan. Hey, while you're at it, why not lock up _everyone in Thedas_. 이 바보 같은 놈아.*"

Oh, they did not like that. Although Bryant does seem to be the most patient of the three.

 _Probably why he's in charge._

"I did not mean that."

"Then what _did_ you mean."

"I meant that you were an anomaly. We do not know much about you, and you did appear from the Fade. And while we Templars are trained to handle magical situations, the fact remains that the mages know more about magic than we do. And, as it was a mage who brought you here..."

"... it'll probably take a mage to send me back."

Huh. All things considered, that wasn't entirely unreasonable. Almost makes me feel bad for assuming the worst.

Almost. If it weren't for a few issues.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. To be honest, he was being rather polite, especially since I wasn't making it easy for him. The least I could do was be diplomatic.

"I can see where you're coming from. And I think that you honestly think that this is the best solution. Thing is, while you seem like an honorable guy, I don't trust your organization. The word Templar, or rather the phrase 'knight templar', is another way of saying fanatic where I come from. And while your organization is, in no way, related to the Knights Templar, what I've read has done little to present you as any different in terms of... devotion to your religion."

Bryant was definitely offended by that. "We are not all fanatics."

"No, but exceptions do not make the rule. And while you seem like a decent guy, the other two are a bit too eager at the bit. Although, to be fair, that isn't unusual in paramilitary organizations, now that I think about it."

"I assure you that Ser Levan and Ser Bernhardt are both honorable men."

"Their honor isn't in question. Their restraint is. And I'd like to remind you that Ser Bernhardt _kicked me in the ribs_."

I could feel his annoyance radiate from him, though whether it was directed at me or the Templar in question was anyone's guess. Probably both.

"I admit, he should not have done so. Just as I am pained to admit that not all at the tower would have your well-being in mind. However, I cannot simply allow you to roam around unguarded and unguided."

Just as I open my mouth to respond, he asks me something I hadn't even thought about.

"Do you have any money on you?"

My automatic answer of "Of course I do" dies in my throat as I realize that I don't. Rather, I don't have any money that anyone here in Ferelden would recognize.

 _Might as well ask._

"That depends. Does anyone take American dollars?"

"Pardon?"

I dig out my wallet and pull out a dollar. "This."

He takes it from my hand and holds it up to the sunlight. "Is this vellum? You use vellum as money?"

"No, it's paper. Cotton paper, to be exact. And it used to be backed by gold. Now, it represents a portion of the government debt."

"Your government... owes it's people money?"

I scoff. "It owes everyone money. I think it owes, what? Eighteen trillion dollars."

That got everyone's attention. "How..."

"How does it function? Or perhaps you want to ask how this happened? To answer the former, by borrowing more money. To answer the latter, well, military spending, public works, social programs that don't always work, an economic crisis, take your pick. But back on track, I take it that noone would take the paper."

He shakes his head. "No, they might buy it from you. A bit of a novelty item. Such fine images, and a masterful weave, if this is cloth as you say. And this portrait. Who is it?"

Huh. I hadn't considered that I could sell my money. Food for thought. "The man on the front is President George Washington. First President of the United States of America. He was the commanding general during the War for Independence. One of the nation's Founding Fathers."

"So, he was your king, then?"

"Not exactly. I'll explain later. Look, you had reason for asking me if I had any money. The answer is clearly no. Unless the coins I have count..."

"Coins? What kind?"

I sigh as I pull out a dollar, a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny. "These. I'd tell you what they're worth, but that's time we're short on. Would any of these be accepted?"

He picks up the quarter. "Are any of these silver?"

"Nope, copper-nickel alloy. Penny's copper, though."

Technically copper-plated zinc, but they didn't need to know that.

Another Templar picks ups the penny. I blink for a moment when I realize that I hadn't noticed him approaching. "Remarkable. How do they engrave such a fine image onto these?"

I shrug. "Dunno. Not my field of expertise."

The Templar not holding a coin tilts his head. "Then what is your field of expertise?"

"I study history, economics, accounting, literature, and computer science. Going for an accounting degree. And maybe computer science. Look, we're burning daylight. Yes, I'm short on usable cash. Why bring it up?"

Ser Bryant hands me back my quarter. "Well, depending on how many of the copper ones you have, you might be able to buy yourself a meal, but that would be all. It is unlikely that you would be able to pay for a night at the inn. Nor do you possess a tent."

He didn't have to continue to make his point. "In other words, if I don't go with you, I probably won't be able to make it on my own."

He shakes his head. "It's far more likely that some brigand will murder you and loot your corpse."

 _That'll make for a shitty headline. 'Poor schmuck killed in a 12th century mugging.'_

I rub my forehead after I put my coins back into my wallet. "You're right. I probably would get robbed blind within a day, if not worse. So I'll go to the Chantry with you. But, I'm not going to the Tower."

I could hear the man mumble "Maker give me strength" as he took a deep breath. "If I could give you a written guarantee from Knight-Commander Gregoir that you will not be unduly harmed at the Tower, would you agree to go."

Given the demonic bullshit that was sure to go down within the next few months, _hell no_.

"Sure," I lie through my teeth. I feel like a prick for lying to his face, but my self-preservation instinct is working properly for once.

The poor man sighs in relief. "Good. Then we should set out soon. Are you ready?"

I take a quick second to look around. All my bags are packed, and the only thing I need to put away is my wallet. I place it back in my backpack before I grab, well, everything. Sleeping bag went under my left arm, and my duffel bag slung over my right shoulder.

"Yup, good to go."

He nods before taking the lead. The Templar that I think is Ser Bernhardt falls in behind me, while the other one taps me on the shoulder and hands me back my penny.

Suffice it to say, nothing about today has gone according to plan.

* * *

* You stupid bastard.


End file.
